Passacaglia
by Hermonthis
Summary: Cyclonis/Piper/Aerrow. Corrosive beginnings precede an unknown end. Chapter Eight - Energy
1. Passacaglia

**Chapter 1: Passacaglia**

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"You killed my best knight." The first words out of her mouth, the blank stare that suffocated the disbelief hidden inside her chest; the boy whom she cannot accept as a man held his blades downward by his sides and provided no reply.

A standstill, a moment of dim light and creeping darkness as he remained two paces away from the stone archway and watched her slide off her metallic throne to greet him. Everyone has abandoned them. She is not sorry for her loss of the Dark Ace. In some ways, the girl who is now a young woman retained some of her teenage innocence. The tragedy is Cyclonis does not know it. He stood at the ready and started to think that either she has kept her head in the crystal clouds too long or –

"I knew this was coming."

He has watched her grow through the years, watched her from afar. He knew her this way. She cannot say the same, for she chose to stay anchored to her land instead. But now, right now, such indifference for a child who came to the throne at the impressionable age of fourteen, what a lack of passion for one who swore one day to rule the Atmos.

He spoke for the first time since this fateful meeting in this black castle. A smirk that is all too familiar slid down his face and made its home there. The girl almost shivered – almost. At least, she thinks she should.

He said,

"Oh?"

And the primeval bells of the citadel ring.


	2. Caustic

**Chapter Two: Caustic**

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"You took her away from us," he said. What she expected to be acidic and bitter had already solidified into hardened rock. It wasn't an accusation, but a statement that couldn't be changed. Cyclonis looked surprised for the next sentence from his mouth made little sense to her at all.

"You took Piper from us, so I took the Dark Ace from you."

That wasn't fair. The empress pursed her mouth as her formal reply. True, she had taken Piper and yes, she did change her, but at least the former was still alive. She, on the other hand, had no one. Had run out of pawns to use, and Cyclonis learned quickly to rely on no one but herself, even in failure. The loneliness could have overwhelmed a lesser girl, but now it was only an afterthought.

The Sky Knight spoke again, and this time she listened closely. The toughened edge in his voice from years of poverty, the pride that cushioned his tongue as the Oracle's Chosen One – all things that might have belonged to her, that should have belonged to her, but didn't. Aerrow had seen the world while she remained stationary in the castle, and she supposed playing the role of villain was the reason he became this way. But Aerrow didn't suppose, he already knew.

"I have just one question for you," he pointed at her chest with one of his energy blades, and the girl decided that in her last hour she would humour him.

"Shoot."

An eerie light twinkled in his green eyes as he chuckled at his enemy's resolve; a true royal to the end. He had made up his mind before he parted his lips; before she had spoken, he knew what he was going to do. And he told her in a hushed whisper,

"Master Cyclonis, do you want to burn?"


	3. Carillon

**Chapter 3: Carillon**

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The natural downward turn of her lips, the distinctive black mole on her cheek just below her left eye, the shades of midnight purple and black she wore. She looked at everything but him, and he looked at nothing but her.

Bells, everywhere. They mourned in throbbing, lamenting musical overtones, the final indication of her downfall. They rang in harmony, more often in discord, and the rumbling tower made her heart quicken even faster. It heightened the reality that Cyclonia was falling apart, and so was her master.

And he held her. Blades that no doubt still had the blood of her champion on them. They were strapped to his back and tucked away safely as Aerrow placed his arms around her waist and started to waltz her around the empty throne room. His feet were swift, strangely accustomed to the movement in ways the empress of crystals didn't know – more revelations and more realizations that her conqueror could beat her at every level imaginable.

"I like your suit." He raised his eyebrows and indicated at the elaborate workings of fabric, leather, and buckles that consisted of her altered wardrobe. In return, her eyes glanced up and down his chest and noted the dark red cloak that hung off his shoulders.

She had no other words to say but, "Thank you."


	4. Grave

A/N: Stories have a life of their own, don't they? I honestly have no set direction for this fic, and as Invader Insane pointed out, "Passacaglia" is become more of a story and less of a series of one-shots. And to answer some other concerns, I'm writing this fanfic as if I'm completing a request on a kink meme for slightly evil!Aerrow/Cyclonis. Dark humour. It's just a different state of mind.

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**Chapter 4: Grave**

**I.** _Adv. and adj. Musical term.  
_In a slow and solemn manner. Used chiefly as a direction. Italian, from Latin gravis, heavy.

**II.** _Adj., grav·er, grav·est.  
_Somber or dark in hue.

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Because no one wants to die a virgin. Because she has one hour left to live and she might as well use it. Her arms are skinny and cold, and look as if they belonged to someone who did not take the time to go outside and play under the sun. Gloved fingers rub against her skin to warm her, but he refused to kiss her. It is too much of a request anyways. His warm breath upon her cheek is the closest moment where their lips could – and might have – touched.

And somewhere, deep inside, he is still vulnerable. As they come closer to each other she starts to see past the glass he surrounds himself in, the inches of invisible barriers that are greatest around his chest, the slanted shield that protects his somber face.

As she lay down on the ground his hands are at her back to soften her fall. His fingers cradled the back of her skull to protect her head. As she closed her eyes and gasped loudly when he finally entered her, she hears echoes of the young, optimistic boy trapped underneath the layer of desperate adulthood. There is time for Cyclonis to laugh quietly to herself with the epiphany that the boy she knew is still there, and despite his toned adult body, Aerrow is a messy lover.

He did not want to be like this; just like she does not want to see her homeland descend in honour, but the transformation is already done. Cyclonis wondered about alternate routes, different circumstances in the moments before and in-between this pseudo-love, but loses herself with his rhythmic grunts. Sex, she thinks, could be fascinating, more so without the majority of their clothes on.

It could have been so much better if it didn't feel so technical.


	5. Liar

**Chapter 5: Liar**

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Because they are children grown up fast – because they are barely adults nurtured by the lessons of loss and pain – they lie. Because they are the things they did not hope to become – they believe in those lies.

"Come on," he said as he rose from his knees, and hesitated to help her up. But he does anyway. Again, the red cloak around his shoulders shifted and the movement reminded her of something it is not, of something hot and liquid, of something that is supposed to be in her veins. She frowned. Reality is back, and it is colder than before.

All intimacy forgotten, Cyclonis wiped her dirtied cheek with the back of her hand and refused to follow the Sky Knight. She is stubborn and was prepared to remain in her echoing castle, to die along with it. She hasn't stepped outside for several hours, so the state of her nation is unknown to her. But to be seen escorted outside by Atmosia's Messiah is an assured way to secure her death sentence.

"Come on," he repeated, more urgently and perhaps with just a little more concern. Green eyes are oblivious to the wariness in hers. He knows they have to leave before others will come, this victory is his alone. And so to get her to move, he mentioned the one name that may spare her further pain.

"Let's get out of here. Piper's waiting for you."


	6. Altar

**Chapter 6: Altar **(formerly Fever)

And this girl is Aerrow's lover; this girl is his best friend. The turbulent past between them manifested itself in the form of bile rising in her throat. Cyclonis swallowed hard and fought off the emotion she refused to name as _betrayal_.

_I've lost_.

The immense weight of failure kept her head down and her feet moving forward. She avoided looking into the eyes of her captors flanked on either side of her, pushed away their misplaced mercy. If they thought they were saving her, then they were extremely misled. One way or another, death would be hers.

And there she stood, Piper, situated in the middle of her comrades like a bride at the altar, waiting for Aerrow's victorious return. And there she was, the Empress, walking behind the groom, trapped in his lengthened shadow. The hazy sun blinded her, the shadows chilled her. She was filthy, inside and out. The heiress questioned her tightly controlled thoughts and wondered if they could be labeled as shame.

- Because it is one thing to blindly follow the man who saved the Atmos, but it is another thing to lie down with him willingly.

Reality and illusion melted into one and Cyclonis saw flashes of dead Talons trampled underneath Atmosian feet, a bloodied arm here, and a twisted leg there. Their ghosts rose from their torn corpses and swayed like restless wraiths above and beyond their murderers, their faces a sea of impassiveness.

Then they started to wail.

She has never cared for them, these Talons who lost their lives fighting under her banner, never spoke a kind word. But at the scene of her ultimate failure, she loved them all, each and every single one of them.

And in this hallucinatory vision, she felt the rope around her neck. Desperately, she grasped the life's essence of her warriors and cherished the sacrifice that bloodied her hands. She will take the guillotine for them all. It is the fall of the Empire; therefore, the fault is hers.


	7. Triste

A/N: Jan. 22, 2013. Long time, no update! Just two notes before I let you read on. One- I've rewritten all previous chapters, mainly Ch.6, to go with the story that has now blossomed in my head. Finally! An idea! And two - the story will be less MCxA and kinda more Aerrow/Piper/Cyclonis. Yeaaah.

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**Chapter 7: Triste**

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One hour has become one day. One day has become three days. Three days has lengthened into seven.

Cyclonis is bored out of her mind with nothing to do except wait for visitors in her tiny prison and preen herself without the use of a mirror. There are guards posted around her cell, a rectangular makeshift bomb shelter made just for her, smelling of concrete and stone and dust. And air –

Air that is so pure and clean Cyclonis knows she will never see her homeland again. The blue sky is visible from the high barred windows; the smell of ozone settles down from the clouds. It brings her the smell of the hard packed dirt, the whisper of the tall, green grass, and the carefree laughter of Atmosian children.

They won't let her die.

Lethargy settled into her bones and threatened to seize her mind. It tickled the walls of her solitary confinement and teased her with loneliness. She missed the feeling of glowing crystals between her hands, missed the heavy stench of smoke and industry.

She wilted.

This was not her choice of demise, locked away in a broom cupboard; lost and forgotten.


	8. Energy

**Chapter 8: Energy**

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She walked through the heavily guarded steel door and sat down at the roughly hewn wooden chair placed in front of the bars. Piper, who appeared more beautiful, and still so young, gave her a cautious smile and placed her hands in her lap.

Cyclonis watched the girl who was now a young woman, hesitate for an indeterminate amount of time, and patiently listened for an apology to escape her mouth. She watched the slow and laboured intake of breath with the hope that maybe this second – all those letters and questions marks and answers could tumble together to form a coherent sentence – only to be plucked apart and exhaled again.

The once-was empress stood up from her cotton bed, her boots echoed on the concrete floor, and grasped the bars that separated her from Piper. Felt the vibrating push and the pull from her chest that resonated like a heartstring all the way from one female to the other – and waited for the Storm Hawk to settle on the same wavelength.

Unable to find the right words to say, Piper got up from her chair, movements so cautious and defensive she was struggling in a dark blue whirlpool of anxiety, and stood level with Cyclonis. Frowning and sighing, she gazed upon the purple polish of her enemy's fingers.

The question, "When will I be released?" is answered by an "I don't think they will."

Violet eyes searched the depths of tangerine; their fingertips touched, their breaths caught in their throats, and wondered about the day their friendship ended, many months ago, that one evening in Cyclonia.

"You never showed up. Why?"

Shame and guilt churned around Piper and whipped her away, drew her back from the prison bars, from its captive audience, and back towards the exit of this concrete cave. Angry she had been lured into a false sense of security, Cyclonis snarled and hissed out her only weapon.

"I slept with your boyfriend."

And Piper raised her haunted eyes, swirling with agitation and secrecy, and issued a tiny, ironic smile of her own. And she said,

"I slept with yours too."


End file.
